


Impending Despair

by claudia6913



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia6913/pseuds/claudia6913
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is unable to cope after Sam sacrifices himself to stop the Apocolypse and calls on Castiel to dole out punishment as Dean sees fit.  Despite Castiel's reservations, he does as asked, but tries to stop Dean's obvious downward spiral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I own nothing in the Supernatural world. It all belongs to Kripke.

**Chapter 1**

There's is a silent agreement between them to not speak of their rendezvous, their private affair. And they don't. Not one person knows about what goes on, not even Lisa. Dean can barely admit to himself what is happening between them. Castiel had tried to name it once, but that had driven Dean away for almost three weeks, so instead he wisely keeps quiet. Now, Castiel takes what Dean gives, gives what Dean wants, and tries as best he can to soothe the hurt the man is clearly feeling.

It’s been nearly a week since he'd last seen Castiel, and Dean finds he's itching to get out of the ‘normal’ and back into something he understands. He promised Lisa he wasn’t hunting. And he isn’t. He's just ... scratching an itch. 

“Hope Frank will be okay,” Lisa says, picking a bit of lint from Dean's bare shoulder then kisses that spot. “It’s nice that you're there for him.”

For a moment Dean doesn’t understand what she is saying, then it clicks ... the excuse this time is that Frank's girlfriend left him and he needs a buddy to drink with. He grunts as he hunts through his shirts for something from another time in his life. Finally, he finds the old faded black shirt towards the back and one of his rattier button ups and pulls them on.

“Don’t wait up,” Dean says to Lisa as he grabs his jacket out of the closet. She leans in for a kiss, and he obliges her, but he is already a million miles away with Castiel again. She says something and he just mumbles in agreement, already tromping down the steps and out the door.

Walking into the garage, he runs a loving hand over the Impala under it's tarp then jumps into his old beat up pickup truck and heads out of town. It takes him nearly an hour to get far enough out of the way that he doesn’t feel like he’ll be spotted. Dean pulls off into the woods onto a barely worn driveway and back towards an old country road that hasn’t been used in years. That road leads to an old house that had seen better times about fifty years ago. Throwing the truck into park, Dean sits there for a moment, knowing Castiel is waiting somewhere for his prayer to summon him here. He takes a deep breath, hops out of the truck, and walks into the house. The boards creak in a now familiar way under his weight and he goes down into the basement of the place. It's only right, he feels, to start there ... from the ground up.

Standing in the middle of the basement, Dean kicks the dirt, covering some of his old blood and hangs his head and begins his prayers for the night. “Castiel ... I need you.”

Dean doesn’t have to turn around, he knows Cas showed up the moment he said his name. A brief smile breaks through, but he hides it before he turns around. Castiel stands before him, the same as always. Never changing, never being anything more or less than what he is - Dean's companion. One last breath and Dean nods.

“Dean -," Castiel starts to say, knowing he's breaking the rules. The first rule Dean laid out ... no talking until after Dean has initiated conversation. There have been many nights where Dean stays silent throughout, however, the more Dean calls on him, the more compelled Castiel feels to speak his mind.

“No,” is all Dean says. Simple, direct, and he damn well means it, or tonight will not go as planned and Castiel will once more have to resort to measures he's only done once and swore he'd never do again.

The basement is silent for a few heartbeats before Castiel finally nods his ascent. He will do as asked. He just hopes he will be allowed to speak his mind later tonight when all is said and done. Even though they are both expecting it, the first punch is always a surprise for them both. Dean grunts, flicking his tongue out to taste the blood on the corner of his lip. He smiles, but does not raise his hands to strike back. Tonight isn’t about feeling the rush of the fight ... tonight is about being punished for all the wrong, all the hurt, and all the bad he's caused in his life. Castiel see's that in his eyes and frowns. He does not approve, but knows if he does not do this for Dean, he will find a willing demon and they will not show him the mercy that Castiel does, will not clean and care for his wounds after as Castiel does, and will not make sure Dean knows that, despite his belief otherwise, he is loved in this world.

Swinging again, Castiel strikes Dean's face, breaking his nose. It is a constant struggle with the Angel, whether to go slow and let Dean recover between blows, or beat him quickly and be done with it. He's tried both, and neither satisfy him - not that anything will short of Dean no longer asking this of him. He swings another fist at the soft flesh and makes contact. Castiel feels every blow he delivers, just as Dean feels them, though the man does not know that. He would likely not approve.

There is no stopping the onslaught until Dean raises his hand to call it quits. Sometimes it's after just ten or fifteen minutes. On bad days, Dean would want it to continue until he could not get up any more. Thankfully, while tonight Dean was pushing it, he did not seem to want utter annihilation. On all fours, unable to pull himself back up, Dean gives the signal and Castiel stops and lets out a sigh.

The only sound is of Dean breathing heavily as he lowers himself to the dirt floor and rolls onto his back, resting. He feels every bruise, cut, and broken bone Castiel gave him and revels in the pain of it all. There is a psychology behind what he is doing, he knows, but he doesn’t look at it too hard, afraid to name it, afraid it will lessen the effect. Either way, he feels he deserves this, for being unable to help his brother, for being unable to bring him back from the Hell he is residing in.

Dean barely acknowledges Castiel as the Angel lifts him from the dirt floor and takes him up the stairs to the barely functioning kitchen. There is a single chair next to a formica table and that is where he is placed as Castiel goes about gathering the the supplies needed to clean and tend to Dean's wounds. Eventually, the Angel will heal him, but Dean seems to like the added pain of cleaning his wounds, and honestly, Castiel enjoys the intimacy of being close to Dean, of getting to look upon his face openly and try to discern what is going on with him this time. 

The water is cold, but clean as Castiel runs the tap into the metal bowl. He pulls a clean washcloth he brought with him. He always keeps one on him now, since he and Dean had started this ... penance as Dean sees it. He has prayed many nights for guidance, but he cannot bring himself to abandon Dean, especially when he seems so vulnerable. So, for now, he helps in the only way Dean is willing to accept.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Castiel wipes at the blood on Dean's face, using more force than is necessary because Dean prefers it that way. The Angel is at odds with himself, wanting to heal, to comfort, to cure ... but Dean refuses it, for now. Instead he wants the pain, he wants the hurt. He craves it. And so Castiel obliges. Neither have spoken yet, though Castiel has opened his mouth to say something at least a dozen times. Each time, Dean gives him a flat look, begging him silently to say nothing. And again, he constrains himself.

Finally, the blood is gone and the bruising shows through, blossoming on Dean's skin like bloody flowers. He tentatively reaches up and pokes at each one, wincing as he does. His body aches in a familiar way. It reminds him of when he used to hunt which wasn’t that long ago, but feels like ages. He and Sam ... Sam ... his thoughts hitch on his brother, turning dark and moving inward. As Lucifer, Sam had dealt mighty blows to him, beaten him to within an inch of his life. It should have been him, he thinks, that went into the cage. Not Sam. He'd promised their father he would take care of his brother and now ... now he had failed.

A soft touch from Castiel brings Dean out of his thoughts and he watches as Cas's wings grow behind him as he heals the broken nose and cheek bone and erases the bruises. It is always a miracle, and yet it's one he sometimes despises, like now. Dean wants to hurt just a little longer. Feel the pain and revel in it for a while. But he knows Castiel is just doing as he always does ... trying to make things better. He understands that Cas hurts in his own way each time, but he still asks the Angel for this. He trusts him implicitly, though he's never said as much. Sometimes he is sure Cas knows that.

Dean is healed in body, but not in soul and Castiel is not sure if he will ever heal. In silence he walks to the ice chest that no longer runs and grabs the bourbon in there then gets a tumbler and pours some out for Dean. He stands next to the man in silence as he drinks. Sometimes Dean will finish off an entire bottle and sometimes he will only take a sip. Castiel is unsure of his mood tonight. It has been seven days since their last encounter ... a long time for Dean. He wishes he had lost count of how many times he has wiped blood from Dean's body, but he remembers each and every occasion with clarity. Perhaps, over time, those memories will fade, but he hopes not. He wishes to remember this, remember how he has failed his one true friend.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see it again,” Dean says softly into the silence, purposefully not looking at Castiel. “I see him falling or, or I hear him telling me that it will all be okay.” Tears threaten to fall as Dean knocks back the rest of the bourbon in the tumbler. 

Quietly, Castiel pours more and listens. This is not the first time Dean has confessed to this. It will likely not be the last. He had read somewhere that Dean is suffering from survivors guilt, though Castiel feels he is taking it to the extreme. But that is just like Dean, he realizes, to take it to the extreme. It is not enough that he live his life as his brother asked, it is not enough that he saved millions of people because he was unable to save the one person that means the most to Dean in this world. 

“I just, I wish we had figured out how to kill Lucifer sooner,” Dean says for the hundredth time, his words slurring as Castiel pours another drink. “I should have seen it ... seen what that bitch Ruby was doing. I should have known. I should have known.”

Dean does not realize, but Castiel feels at fault for not being there for the brothers more, not realizing what was going on either. He is a heavenly being, capable of so much, and yet he was unable to help two humans among many. But this is not about him. This is about Dean, about helping him the only way he will allow Castiel to help.

“Come,” Castiel says gruffly, holding his hand out for Dean. He helps the man to his feet and together they go up the steps that creak underfoot. 

At the top of the stairs, they go right into the bedroom at the end of the hall. Inside is an old four post bed, the construction strong and sturdy, as they have found out. The mattress is old, but serviceable, and once Castiel had learned this would be the place Dean brought him whenever he needed release the Angel had brought a blanket large enough to cover the mouldering sheets of the previous owner.

The wallpaper is rotting and peeling, having faded over the years. The small floral pattern is only discernable in the shadows, the parts where the light never reaches. The curtains are moth eaten and barely hanging on by a thread and some of the windows have been broken out ... but it is somehow comforting to Dean, this old and battered house.

Castiel closes the door behind them and it sounds loud in the silence, though nature is roaring outside. He still holds Dean’s hand and slowly pulls the man closer to him until their chests touch. Castiel can see Dean's breath hitch in his throat and he cannot hold back any longer. His lips crush Dean's as he kisses him, their stubble scratching each other. It is primal and beautiful to Castiel, their coming together. Everything before this moment melts away and for a few blissful hours he and Dean can forget everything save for this moment together.

“Cas,” Dean moans as one hand rakes through the dark hair of his Angel. Their tongues dance an old familiar dance as they grope and grab at each other in desperation. For a moment Dean is lost to the feeling of it all, and he is almost happy to be alive.

Spinning Castiel around, Dean pushes him roughly against the door they just came through and pulls the tan trench coat down his shoulders, effectively trapping the Angel’s arms. Nipping at the his neck, Dean grinds into Castiel and feels an answering hardness. 

It is apparent to Castiel, that tonight Dean is in charge of this tryst. The onslaught of touch and tongue and teeth is almost more than he can bare, and yet is his reveling in it. It has been a long time since Dean has initiated anything and he hopes that this is a good thing, that perhaps Dean is finally on the mend. He smiles as Dean roughly pulls him away from the door by his shirt and pushes him towards the bed. Obediently, he begins removing his clothes. Slowly. The coat first, then his suit jacket, next his tie. He tosses the tie to Dean who catches it deftly and smiles a wicked little smile.

Clothes hit the floor faster as Dean becomes impatient and removes Cas’s shirt and begins removing his own clothing. He has a need to feel skin on skin, to feel the warmth of them together. Long ago, when this first started, Dean knew that he would never be with another man. Castiel would be his one and only. They share a bond since Castiel rescued him from Hell, and them being together ... just feels right. He can't explain it any better than that. Though he refuses to explain it at all. No one knows about it and he intends to keep it that way.

Just before his jeans fall to the floor, Dean fishes in the pockets and tosses the lube he brought onto the bed. Castiel reaches forward and pushes the denim down, releasing Dean’s erection from its confines as Dean free's Castiel's. Tonight, Dean wants to feel as though he has some control over himself and his life. Tonight Dean takes the lead and pushes Castiel down to the bed. He kisses up his thigh, to his buttocks and along his spine sending blissful little shivers through his Angel.

“Dean,” Castiel moans, unable to keep quiet. “Please.” He does not beg often, but he does this night and he is rewarded by the sound of the cap on the lube popping open. It is only mere seconds before he feels the familiar push of Dean's finger as he opens and prepares him ... not that it is needed, but the gesture is sweet and the feeling is enjoyable and so he does not tell Dean that little thing.

After too much teasing, Dean finally pushes into Castiel. He pulls the Angel's hips up and back to meet him thrust for thrust and they lose themselves to each other and the feeling of being made complete, of being happy - if even for the briefest of moments.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

They lay together on the bed in post-coital bliss. Each knowing the night will not go on forever despite their deepest desires for it to do so. Slowly, as the endorphins and other chemicals that were released during sex slowly ebb away, Dean's feeling of failure begins it’s slinking, slithering way back into his mind. Castiel has learned over the many nights to recognize the moment when Dean goes from happy and sated, to melancholy and depressed. Sometimes it flicks like a switch, immediate and jarring. Other times it is a gradual process and one that Castiel can sometimes slow if he catches it happening early enough.

Unfortunately tonight he does not catch it in time and already Dean is deep in self-loathing. Castiel lay on his side next to Dean who is on his back, one arm above his head as he stares up at the ceiling. Castiel sees the tears pool in his eyes before they are blinked away or roll down his temples. The ones on his side are gently kissed away. Thankfully tonight that does not seem to cause an adverse reaction in Dean as it sometimes can. 

“Dean,” Castiel tests, making sure that his words and his voice will not be met with disdain. When nothing happens, Castiel continues, albeit gingerly. “This needs to cease.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth Dean begins to close up and draw away. “Not us,” Castiel soothes, pulling Dean closer to him, “not this.” He lays a gentle kiss on Dean's temple. “But ... the basement, what you ask of me ... I cannot continue.”

A deep breath flows into Dean’s lungs, and then he slowly releases it, counting to four. Then, he repeats the process a few times, trying to gain control over his emotions. He understands what Castiel is telling him, he knows that what he asks of the Angel is not fair, is not right, but just the idea of stopping nearly sends him over some invisible edge and into a panic attack.

“I can’t,” Dean chokes out, taking more deep breaths, hoping to calm his racing heart and mind. “I can’t stop, please ... don't stop.”

“Shh,” Castiel murmurs, running a hand through Dean's hair, trying his best to soothe him. “I will continue on, if that is what you need, but I do want to talk about it, about finding a way.”

Silently, Dean nods, his heart nearly to a normal rhythm again. For a brief, terrifying moment Dean wonders where he would be right now if it weren't for Castiel. Possibly in a ditch or an alley dead. Or perhaps a plaything for a demon or vampire who wanted revenge on him. Because despite his best intentions and his promises to Lisa, if Castiel did not help keep him grounded, he would be out there itching for a fight. Sometimes he thinks Castiel knows that and that's why he stays.

For months now, Castiel has attempted to understand exactly what it is Dean is doing and why. He has read books on the subject, spoken to priests, and watched him silently from afar. And yet ... it still does not make sense to him. He understands the pain of loss. He understands the guilt of survival. He does not understand this need for punishment, however, and it is that aspect that Castiel wants to end. There have been a few nights when he has attempted to get Dean to open up about why his chooses this particular punishment, but he has of yet been able to form words for what he is feeling.

“I do enjoy our time together,” Castiel admits in a low, gravelly voice. Dean does not close off like he thought the man would, so he decides to be a little more bold with his words. “This time.” For emphasis, he runs his fingers gently down Dean's chest, over his abs, and stops to swirl a finger around his bellybutton.

“I want to hunt,” Dean says from out of nowhere.

Confused, Castiel props himself up on one elbow and looks down at Dean. “Animals?”

“No,” Dean says frustrated. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, already reaching for his boxers on the floor. He hears Cas’ soft sigh, but ignores it. The bed creaks behind him as Castiel moves too to gather his clothes. He reaches down and pulls his shirt over his head then pulls on his jeans. “I want to hunt demons, monsters, ghosts, creepy crawlies, things that go bump in the night. Cas, I _need_ to hunt. I know I promised ...,” he chokes on the name, “but I am not made for this normal stuff.”

In all honesty, Castiel is not surprised by this and is actually amazed he had not come to this conclusion sooner. Before Dean called to him that dark and desperate first night, Castiel had thought he would come upon him broken by some creature he was unable to take on by himself. Thankfully, that had not happened, but now it is looking as though it just might.

“I don’t know how to tell Lisa,” Dean admits, running a hand through his hair after pulling on his t-shirt. He is actually contemplating taking the cowards way out ... leaving in the middle of the night without a goodbye. It would be cleaner that way, no tears, no pleading, no feeling as though he was failing ... again.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Castiel questions, narrowing his eyes. He is unsure just how wise the decision would be. On one had, hunting is all Dean has ever known save for the brief period before his Mother's death and Castiel is sure it is all Dean will ever feel is suitable for him. On the other hand, however, he does not believe Dean is ready to hunt again.

“Yes, Cas,” Dean says with certainty. “I can’t keep lying to myself. I feel like ... I feel like I'm trying to erase who and what I was and I can’t do that because that would mean that Sam ...,” he swallows back tears, “that Sam meant nothing too and that just isn’t true.”

First, Castiel nods to himself, deciding something, then looks up at Dean. “I will join you then.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks hesitantly, hands on hips.

“I will hunt with you,” Castiel says smiling, already getting into the idea of doing some good here on Earth for a change. There is a Civil War going on in Heaven and he wants no part of it. Already he has found that he has been led astray from God's true intention for his kind, as have so many others, and he is refusing to continue on that path.

“Whoa," Dean responds, holding up his hands to slow down the Angel train. “Don’t you have like ... Angel things to do?” He’d planned on going solo on this. Having Cas around would be ... weird to say the least.

“Yes," Castiel admits, “I have many prayers to answer.” He walks over to Dean and puts his arm around the other man's shoulders and smiles widely. “But I can do that while you are on the road and then meet you when you have reached your destination.” And with that, the Angel grabs his trench coat and takes his leave of the old home, confident the next time Dean calls on him will be under different circumstances and he is undeniably pleased by the prospect.

“Oh boy,” Dean says, realizing Cas has thought this through.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

As much as Dean wanted to take the cowards way out, he just could not up and disappear on Lisa and Ben. He knows she would worry and god forbid she found out somehow that he was alive and had just left. It isn’t her fault, he tells her now, it's just who he is, how he has lived his entire life. Dean was never made to stay in one place for very long.

“I know,” Lisa says sadly, wiping a stray tear that escapes. “I’ve, well, I’ve honestly been expecting this.” She tucks her hair behind her ear in a way that is all too familiar to Dean and he has to look away. Thankfully Ben is upstairs in his room. They both know this will hurt Ben, but don’t know any other way.

Stuffing his duffel, Dean realizes he has nothing more than what he came here with. He tosses the keys to the truck onto the bed between them where they land with a soft thud. There are many words on the tip of his tongue, but all of them seem so trite and pitiful that he instead he says nothing. The zipper is loud in the silence, final sounding as he tosses his duffel over his shoulder. She stays in the room, refusing to watch him walk out of her life, but his boots on the stairs echo throughout the house.

For as much as he spent his time loathing himself, he still appreciated Lisa and what she did for him. There had been no good reason to let him into her house and into her and her son’s lives, but she had, and she would never know just what that meant to him. It is likely, without that stable life he would've gone much further over the deep end than he had. Dean tries to convey all of this in a look and a touch of his lips on her forehead, but in truth, she doesn't know the half of how messed up he truly is and so will never know what her kindness genuinely meant to him.

The front door shuts behind him with a finality he cannot deny. Dean takes deep breath in and then out before he steps off the porch for the last time. He knows he cannot return, and for a moment the idea that he will never come back to the place he'd made his home these last eight months threatens to overwhelm him. But it is his choice, and he has chosen to leave, to do what he does best ... hunt.

Climbing behind the wheel of the Impala is like sliding into a second skin. The seat has been moulded to his shape over the years. His hands fit perfectly on the wheel and even the pedals feel as though they are an extension of his legs. He smiles broadly for the first time since before Sam's fall. Dean's face falls as he looks to his passenger seat to find it empty.

A knock at the window jerks him out of his thoughts and he looks to his left to see Castiel standing beside the vehicle, seemingly waiting patiently. Dean rolls down the window and looks up at him questioningly. “Cas?”

“I want to join you,” Castiel reminds Dean, afraid he had forgotten his vow to help Dean in his fight against the evil in the world.

Rolling his eyes, Dean sighs. “Get in if you're coming.” He jumps as Castiel vanishes from outside his window and reappears next to him in the car. “And that has got to stop!”

Dean pulls the Impala out of the garage. As he backs out down the driveway, he takes one last look at the house that had been his home for a while. He sees Ben watching from his window upstairs, a look of confusion mingled with sadness on his face. Dean gives a brief wave before pulling into the street and roaring down the road away from the place he'd called home.

“He will be okay,” Castiel says, attempting to comfort Dean. He too had seen the young child in the window. What Dean does not know, is that the child will be better off without him in his life. Dean made a good impact on the boy for the short duration, however, longer exposure would not be beneficial to him. This is nothing Dean needs to worry about, however, and Castiel wisely keeps the information to himself.

Nodding, Dean reaches to the dash and finds a classic rock station and turns up the volume. He's missed this - the road, the music, the bad food, bad hotels, and good beer - all of it. Thankfully Cas is letting him cruise along in amiable silence for a while. He still isn’t sure just what he thinks of Cas tagging along on hunts, but he is glad for the company, though he won’t admit it.

They drive in amiable silence for a while. The windows are down and fresh air blows through Dean's hair and onto his face. He feels the warmth of the sun as it comes through the windows. For a moment he is peaceful and without the tumult of his warring emotions. He isn't really thinking of one thing or another, just enjoying the ride, the sun, and the scenery. It seems that Castiel too is enjoying the trip as he looks out over the landscape the goes by them.

“This is ... an interesting way to travel,” Castiel says, breaking the silence of the last few hours. He does not want to admit to himself that he is worried about Dean, about what returning to hunting means for him and what might happen if he does not truly have his mind and heart into the job at hand. But he cannot say that, cannot express himself in that way. Instead he has learned to weave and imply and find alternate meanings to proxy questions - Dean is very complicated he has come to learn.

However, instead of answering, Dean just grunts and bobs his head with no discernable indication of an affirmation or dissent to the remark. Which, Castiel has worked out by now, means that Dean wishes to be alone. He can, at the very least, give him the semblance of solitude.

“Call for me when you have reached your destination,” Castiel says. This time Dean does look at him, a crooked smile on his face.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean responds with a nod.

And with that, Castiel vanishes from view, however he does not leave the vehicle. Instead he has hidden himself from view, yet he stays ever by Dean's side as he has countless times before.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Dean drives until he can barely keep his eyes open. Pulling off the highway he finds the nearest motel and checks in. Exhausted, Dean drops his bag just inside the door, shuts it and locks it behind him, then flops on the bed. He glances at the side table and smiles when he see's the ‘Magic Fingers’ box and fishes in his pocket for a quarter. He lets the rumble of the bed lull him into a fitful sleep.

_”Dean,” a voice whispers from the very darkest corner of the room._

_He tries to open his eyes, but they are so very, very heavy. Finally he manages one and looks for the voice. The corner where the deep, wet, sucking breaths are coming from is darker than night, and thicker than smoke. He squints to make out what is there, but the shape comes and goes in his vision._

_“You,” the voice rasps making that sickening wet sound again, like blood in a chest wound._

_Finally he is able to open both his eyes and for one breif, terrifying moment the corner is clear._

“Sam!” Dean screams, shooting up in bed. He flips on the light in his room and looks to the corner, but it is empty. No one is there. Sam is not there. He rubs his eyes and falls back on the bed, drenched in sweat. Glancing at the clock he realizes he's only slept for three hours. Rubbing furiously at his face, Dean attempts to scrub the image of his brother broken and bloody standing just feet away from him.

In an effort not to be spooked by his nightmare, he tries not to notice that this partiular one is becoming a frequent visitor of his since deciding to go back to hunting. Dean hates to think that Sam may be ‘disapproving’ of his decision from where ever it is he resides now. However, perhaps it is simply his guilty consious getting the better of him. Sam had made him promise to make a go of a normal life. And he had, honestly, Dean had tried. It just wasn’t for him. Surely Sam, of all people, would understand such a thing. 

There's no chance of him going back to sleep so he decides to pull out Sam's laptop that he has carried with him. He opens it up and is momentarily choked with emotion. Dean debates shutting it down and just calling Bobby to see if he's got anything for him, but then that would mean a long conversation with the old man about how he is feeling and why he's out hunting again. It’s a conversation he does not want to have right now.

With a sigh he logs on and looks through Sam's bookmarks, reading online newspapers for anything that jumps out as something he should look into. After a few hours his eyes begin to glass over and he's barely taking in anything he is reading. Perhaps this was a bad idea, he begins to think. Maybe he is not up to it. Maybe he is not ready. Maybe he will never be ready. 

Dean pushes the laptop away and puts his head down on his arms on the table and lets the overwhelming sense of failure wash over him. The tears start quietly at first. One or two trickle from his eyes to his shirt sleeve. The flood gates open and he weeps into his arms. He weeps for his brother whom he failed so completely. He weeps for the life of his half brother whom he'd barely gotten to know. He weeps for all of it, and, if he is being honest, he weeps for himself. 

*************

Castiel stands a silent sential in the corner of the dirty hotel room watching his friend break down finally. This has been a long time coming, and while he wants nothing more than to go comfort Dean, Castiel realizes that he needs this. Dean needs to come to some sort of terms with everything that has happened. He is doing that now, alone, away from people who care so deeply for him. Reaching up, Castiel wipes away a tear that forms in his own eyes. 

Eventually, Dean drifts off to sleep and Castiel disappears and goes in search of a job for him. Perhaps hunting will be benificial. Already it has done wonders and Castiel does not want anything to happen that would set Dean back. He realizes that this may be the end of their encounters, and while that saddens him, he will accept it as long as it means Dean no longer asks him to punish the man.

**************

After a few hours, Dean wakes up sore and uncomfortable. He stands up and stretches, his body and bones trying to realign themselves. A shower is called for and Dean takes one quickly. It is cold and wakes him quicker than any cup of coffee could do. He steps out and looks in the mirror, something he hasn’t done in a long, long time. He takes care to avoid looking into his own eyes, afraid of what he might see. Instead he focuses on his chest and arms. They are smooth and muscled ... and yet they are not his. They are missing so many of the markers he had been used to seeing for years on his flesh. Like the scar from when he and his Dad had taken on that werewolf in Indiana. Or the thin knife cut along his forearm that Sam had given him the first time they'd spared as teenagers. All of it had been wiped clean with just the touch of two figner tips. All of it save for one large handprint on his right shouder. No matter how many times Castiel healed him, that never left him. Dean is both grateful and resentful at the same time. He wants all of his scars, all of his momentos, all of his reminders and memories etched on his flesh back.

The urdge to slam his fist into the mirror overwhelms him and Dean cocks his hand back when he hears the unmistakable flutter of Castiel's feathers outside the bathroom. In one breath Dean both curses and thanks the Angel for his timing. He could only imagine the disappointment Cas would show should he show up with Dean's hand a bloody mess. Turning away, Dean catches just the barest glance of his own eyes and looks away quickly.

Tossing on his boxers and pants, Dean steps out of the bathroom and sees Castiel standing still and silent in the middle of the room seemingly looking at everything and nothing in that irritating way he has. Sometimes Dean wants to smack the look off his face, others he wants to ask what it is he's seeing.

“Yo, Cas, what's up?” Dean asks after several silent moments. Dread fills him as Cas turns towards him with a look of deep saddness in his eyes.

“I am so sorry, Dean,” Castiel says, unable to hold back the tears that fill his eyes. He had been trying to help, and he'd tried so hard to help all those that he came across, however, he could not forsee this event and could do nothing to prevent the natural order of things.

“What is it?” Dean asks, starting to panic now. “What happened? What's wrong?” When Cas didn’t immediately speak, Dean walks up to him, grabs his shoulders and shakes him, yelling in his face. “Damnit, Cas! Talk to me!”

“It is Bobby,” Castiel says. “He ... he had a heart attack.”


End file.
